Precious Love Returned
by FoxxFlame
Summary: Sherlock Holmes was the most precious thing in the world to John Watson. And just when he was realizing that fact, Sherlock was ripped away, gone in a flash.


Precious Love Returned

_**Disclaimer: I own nothing of these characters in this story. If I did then I wouldn't have left the 2nd season the way they did. And there would be a little romance between John and Sherlock all the way.**_

_**Beta credit goes to WhatIMustWrite, Thank You!**_

Sherlock Holmes was the most precious thing in the world to John Watson. And just as he was realizing this fact, Sherlock was ripped away from him. Gone in the blink of an eye.

For the first few days without Sherlock, John was alright, mostly. The media was still running the story of Sherlock being a fraud, the wrong story. It sent John into a rage whenever he saw a story like it on the news or in the paper. The reporters quickly learned that John Watson wasn't available for interviews, and the few that tried too hard were punched very hard in the face.

A few weeks after his plea to Sherlock not to be dead, it really hit John that Sherlock, the man he'd come to love despite all the stupid and annoying things he did, was gone. Gone. GONE! It was then that John Watson became a soulless husk of a man. He stopped speaking. He stopped going outside, unless it was to buy groceries. John's limp came back, much worse then it was before he'd met Sherlock. John was forced to use a set of forearm crutches when he did go outside for groceries.

Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson tried to help him through his pain. Lestrade would visit once or twice a week, sitting with his friend and talking about anything and everything that had been going on. John would never reply to his friends' words, but the pain in his eyes and posture would lessen oh so slightly when Lestrade visited. Mrs. Hudson would fix Johns meals, do his laundry, and hold him tightly when he would break down sobbing. She tried to get him to go out, but eventually realized that it was pointless.

The one person, who never visited, after the first time, was Mycroft. He'd visited about a week after John's "transformation" into what he now was, and quickly, swiftly, received a broken nose, black eye, and a bloody lip. He hadn't visited since, but John knew the man was taking care of him. Paying Mrs. Hudson the rent, putting money into his account for groceries. Keeping a watch on the doctor to make sure he had everything he needed. But he couldn't give John the one thing he needed the most. Sherlock.

During the first year away from John, Sherlock would watch each tape Mycroft brought to him, and then he would cry in his bedroom so his brother wouldn't know. But he knew. Mycroft wasn't as heartless or unfeeling as everyone thought. He loved his little brother, and he care very much for John Watson, despite the attack.

"Why don't you let him know you're alive? It's eating at him, slowly." Mycroft said, about seven months after "The Fall". Sherlock paused and looked up from his studying of some pictures.

"You know it would put him in danger. Morierty still has several minions loyal to him. Until they're gone, John and the others won't be safe if I were to return to them." And he turned back to the photo's. Mycroft sighed and left.

This continued for several months, Mycroft asking why Sherlock wouldn't contact John. Finally, midway through the second year, Sherlock yelled when Mycroft asked it.

"Why do you care so much Mycroft!" Mycroft blinked slowly, then said, in an obvious information voice.

"Because you're my little brother and I love you." Mycroft and Sherlock stared at each other for a minute, before Sherlock burst into tears, collapsing into his brothers arms. But they both knew, that despite how much he wanted to, Sherlock couldn't return just yet. There were still enemies to capture.

Time passed slowly for John as well. A day, a week, a month, three years passed by oh so slowly. But as time did pass, John got slightly better. He would go out, two years after "The Fall" and just walk around, or visit Lestrade at his office. Although it'd taken a lot of restraint to not beat Anderson to death with his crutch when the man had badmouthed Sherlock. A few quick and painful raps on the kneecaps did the trick. John still wouldn't speak though, but he continued to improve in small amounts.

The one place that John would visit frequently, after the first year, was Sherlock's grave. He'd say nothing, just stand there and stare at the black headstone for hours on end, seeming never to blink.

What he didn't know was that Mycroft had one of his agents watching John at all times, recording the doctor's every move. At the end of each day the agent would deliver the film to Mycroft, and give a report of anything that had happened as well. Then Mycroft would deliver it to a very much alive Sherlock.

For three years Sherlock had been forced to watch his John slowly deteriorate. He watched the nightmares, the sobbing sessions, and the times when John would simply sit in Sherlock's chair, holding his violin, with his scarf wrapped around his neck. He wished with all his heart, for he did have one, that he could comfort John, tell him that everything was alright. But he couldn't until all of Morierty's henchmen were gone, and John, Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson were safe. So, like John, Sherlock suffered in silence.

Another year passed before all the men who threatened those he loved were all gone. Dead or captured by Mycroft's agents. Finally it was time for Sherlock Holmes to return from the dead.

First Sherlock revealed himself to Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson. Not wanting a public scene just yet, he had Mycroft bring them both to his hideout. Lestrade promptly punched him in the jaw, before crying and hugging him tightly. Mrs. Hudson just sobbed, and clung tightly to him. After the crying was done, Sherlock explained everything. When he revealed that he'd been watching John, Mrs. Hudson slapped him.

"The poor boy's been through hell and back twice. You better go and fix this right now young man."

So, that's how Sherlock wound up standing in front of a door he hadn't seen, in person, in four years. He was scared of how John would react. Most likely he would punch Sherlock, like Lestrade had, then start sobbing. Or worse, he would become furious with Sherlock and refuse to see him ever again. Sherlock didn't know if he could live with that, as when he'd heard John's wish at his grave, he'd realized he loved the man with all his heart. With a deep breath, Sherlock quietly entered and began up the stairs. The sound of the television became louder with each step, some kind of game show, crap telly. The door was open, so Sherlock stepped inside, just one step, and froze.

John heard someone coming up the stairs. It couldn't be Lestrade, he'd visited yesterday. Mrs. Hudson was across town, visiting her sister, and Mycroft walked with his umbrella thumping each step like a cane. The steps stopped just inside the doorway, and that's when John looked over.

The second that John and Sherlock's eyes met, time seemed to freeze. All sound from the outside world faded until the only sound was their breathing. John stood up suddenly, without the aid of his crutches, and walked towards the detective. Sherlock waited, hoping that John wasn't going to just walk by him. When John stopped a few steps away, and quickly brought his hand up, Sherlock flinched, closing his eyes as he awaited a punch or slap.

The punch came swifty, and with a lot of force, striking Sherlock's cheek bone. With a loud cry, Sherlock was then pulled out of the doorway and into their home, John slamming the door shut with his foot.

"YOUR UTTER IDIOT!" John screamed, grabbing Sherlock by the front of his coat and slamming him against the wall.

"John, I can explain." Sherlock started, but John slammed him against the wall again.

"NO! I don't want to hear your excuses Sherlock! You let me think you were DEAD! Do you know how many times I wanted to kill myself to be with you?" John yelled, and Sherlock's eyes widened. He'd known that John missed him, but he didn't think it was that bad.

"John." Sherlock carefully and slowly brought his hands up and framed John's face with them. John blinked, tears falling down his face.

"I had to keep you safe John. Above all else, you had to stay safe. I'm sorry John. You can hit me some more if you wish." Sherlock dropped his hands and closed his eyes, waiting for more blows.

But they never came. Instead John's fingertips ghosted over Sherlock's face. His eyes opened slightly, and was surprised to see his friend smiling, tears falling down his face rapidly.

"Welcome home Sherlock." John's voice was harsh and soft from the yelling, but there was a warmth infused in John's eyes that filled Sherlock with hope. He threw his arms around John's neck, burying his nose in that soft blonde hair. John's arms wrapped tightly around Sherlock's waist, his hands fisting in the coat, while his face rested in Sherlock's neck. For a while they simply breathed each other in, re-remembering the unique scents that were Sherlock and John.

"I missed you so much John. I'm so sorry I left you."

"I know Sherlock, it'll take me a while before things get back to normal, but so long as you NEVER leave me again, we should be fine." John said, pulling his head back to look into Sherlock's eyes.

"Sherlock?"

"Yes John?"

"I love you." John said, and Sherlock smiled a brilliant smile, leaning forward until his forehead was touching John's.

"I know. I love you too." And with a little movement from both men, their lips made gentle contact.

Automatically, John let out a relieved sigh, the tension leaving every pore of his body, and Sherlock tightened his hold on the shorter frame. It was soft and attentive at first. It had been years, over a decade now, since Sherlock had experienced a proper kiss and he wanted to make this the best of them all, for John, but his lack of knowledge in the area made his movements hesitant

and testing. But John wanted more, desperately and completely. Bringing one hand up to the grasp the dark curls, he teased his bottom lip with a swipe of his tongue. Sherlock gasped at the feeling, giving the doctor the opportunity to finally taste his man. This was something neither had done before, but god, it just felt so right. Like the world was re-aligned once more.

_**Author's Note- Hello again everyone. I would make some stupid excuse as to why I haven't written in SUCH a long time, but the truth is I've been too busy, and blocked. I'm sorry for that. So I'm not going to make any promises about stories, except to say that I'll try my best. **_

_**Also, thanks again WhatIMustWrite for reading this and giving thoughts on it. It means a lot to me.**_

_**PLEASE REVIEW, IT FEEDS THE SENCES MORE THAN FRISKIES!**_


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